


mosaics of a soul

by dreamyshadows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Early in Canon, F/M, Other Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamyshadows/pseuds/dreamyshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i have had this idea for more than a year, but have never really put pen to a paper and released any coherent thoughts about it. the other day, that changed. </p><p>here is the result.</p><p>comments and critique are more than welcome.</p>
    </blockquote>





	mosaics of a soul

**Author's Note:**

> i have had this idea for more than a year, but have never really put pen to a paper and released any coherent thoughts about it. the other day, that changed. 
> 
> here is the result.
> 
> comments and critique are more than welcome.

It's been three months.

Three months to the day since Dean burst into her life like a tornado intent on total annihilation, three months to the day since her life ended, and three months to the day since her heart started beating _again_  in over four years.

_Three months to the day since Jess burned on the ceiling._

The reminder is unnecessary and it stings her like salt on an open wound, but it's important to remember nonetheless. Sam reminds herself of that beautiful face and silently weeps, anguish at everything she is and isn't clouding hazel lenses in place of the tears that refuse to fall from fatigued eyes.

Everything is the same as it's always been. The hunts are the same, the abandonment by their father is the same -- even the sacrilegious feelings towards her brother are  _exactly the same._ Nothing has changed; only now Sam is old enough to know that there are things far worse than loving your own flesh, and that sins are branded into blood from birth. 

She doesn't voice these thoughts, of course. For Dean, they are together and that is everything.  _It's just you and me Sammy, just like old times._

But while Sam knows nothing has changed, she also knows a lot _has_. She is different; her bones feel unusual in her skin and her mind -- which has always been her virtue -- pushes against her skull like a lunatic on the loose. With Dean it is better, safer, but at the same time, much more complicated. 

He knows her too well; the sorrow she hides, the pain she suppresses...it is a mechanism he's become uncomfortably familiar with over the years. Dean's talent though, is being even better at tamping things deep, deep down in places that will never see the light. The habit had irked her to no end in her teenage years; him being the typical older brother with his late night trysts and drunken endeavors while she waited for him to open up. _Kept on waiting for him to open up._  But now, she has her own secrets. Things that drip acid and leak poison when she so much as thinks about them. Things that scare her even in the darkest corners of her mind, scare her so intensely that she never brings them to her lips. 

So they die there, much like her brother's untutored feelings and his unspoken demands.

\---

The nights are worse.

Not just because Sam wakes up feeling like her skin is burning -- _no that only remained for a week after Jessica's death_ \-- it is like her very being is on fire. There is nothing that can tone it down, nothing that can put her at ease from this consuming feeling, this unquenchable thirst for something she named so long ago.

Frustrated, she rises like the ghosts she hunts, sitting up hazily in bed while trying to breathe in deep and count to a thousand. Sam thinks back to Stanford, back to debate and law, remembering things like  _ad hominum_ to help put her mind at rest. 

_It doesn't work._

Her brother makes it worse. With his half-naked body twisting unceremoniously around the covers, she sees every dip and sinew that decorates his stunning flesh. Lust pushes itself into Sam's belly with an almost violent fervor, the feeling throttling her sleep and removing any desire of absolution from her blackened heart.

As Dean turns to his side -- now facing her -- Sam looks away with a determination set into her bones, focusing all her energy on that small stain on the wall in front of her. A normal person would have chosen to  _grieve;_ they would have howled at the loss of such a beautiful being, would have refused to accept that such a love had come to such an unfortunate end.

But Sam  _had_ accepted the tragedy. Had accepted it even before she'd seen Jess turn to ash and dust, had accepted it from the moment Dean had covered her body with his, warm breath fanning her cheek and reminding her of everything she had missed for what seemed like centuries.

She knows that there is no turning back; now there is no Stanford to go back to, no Jessica to run to, and no future law career basking gloriously in the sunshine. Now there is only Dean, and now she can run no more. 

It should terrify her, but it doesn't.

For the first time in four years, Sam finds herself running towards her heartbeat rather than _away_ from it. 

_\----_


End file.
